


Words And Actions

by LipstickAndWhiskey (CopperMarigolds)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drinking, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 03:11:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8516251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperMarigolds/pseuds/LipstickAndWhiskey
Summary: You can tell Dean is struggling, and one night you decide things need to change.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of @iwantthedean‘s Quickie Challenge where I had to write a fic with no dialogue (which can be really hard when writing more than one character) and @loveitsallineed‘s Playlist Challenge with ‘Hero’ by Skillet.

Very early on in life, you discovered the worth of actions. Words were cheap, fickle things that people spewed flippantly, but actions- actions spoke louder than words. Actions spoke of true intent, and held more meaning to you than words ever did. That’s what made your relationship with Dean so special. Dean was a man of few words who took more stock in immediate action than his brother did. Sure, he sometimes got himself into trouble leaping before looking, but he always managed to come out of it fine.

Dean never bothered to use trite words- a steady hand on your shoulder and a question in his eyes was more than enough to let you know he cared. And he did care quite deeply. Those he let himself care about were special to him and he would move mountains for them. He always had his own way of making sure you were looked after, of checking in with you. You appreciated the solidarity you found in his presence, his steadfast and kind nature more of a comfort to you than any cheap words.

Dean’s nature though, prevented him from really ever leaning on others. You noticed the way he always retreated in on himself after bad hunts and the world-weary look that took over his face in the quiet moments of your lives. It was those times you saw the deep lines on his face, a beaten and downtrodden man rubbed raw by the hard life he lived. You knew he was troubled, the haunted look in his eyes proof enough of that. The small spark in them dwindling in the quiet of the night.

You worried about him. You were sure that he thought he was fooling you and Sam, due to the fact that neither of you mentioned his nonexistent sleeping habits. Neither did you ever say anything about the fact that he usually had a beer or stronger always in his hands. You never dared tell him how to live his life, but watching him slowly tear himself apart was too much for you to take. You wanted to help him carry the weight that constantly bore down on his shoulders, most of it from his own sense of guilt and duty.

* * *

It was late at night, sleep evading your tired mind as you padded into the dining area. You rubbed at your eyes, squinting and hoping your eyes would focus so you didn’t end up running into anything like last time. You hoped you could find some of that tea Sam managed to snag for you in the dim lighting, too tired to be bothered with bright lights. As you stepped into the room, your eyes slid over to a solemn Dean, hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey. The bottle next to him was the new one you bought for him earlier that morning, now sitting half gone in the dead of night.

Tea forgotten at the sight of him, you sat down next to him at the table, peering at the small muted tv they managed to install. His favorite fictional doctor flashed across the screen as he watched mindlessly, moreso staring through the screen rather than watching what was on it. His lack of presence made you cautious, the mindless emptiness of his current state making your heart ache for him.

His grip tightened on the glass, knuckles going white with the pressure. He lifted the glass to his lips, but before he could take a drink, your hand shot out. Fingers pressed against the top of the glass, you stopped him. You weren’t sure if that was the best thing to do at the moment, but you knew whatever he was searching for in the bottom of a glass would not be found there. His eyes slid to yours hesitantly. Lightly pushing downward, you guided his glass back to the tabletop until it settled with a ‘clunk’ against the hardwood.

You let go of the glass and let your hand brush up his arm achingly slow, his eyes on you still as your hand journeyed upward. The moment your small hand landed on the mark he took a sharp intake of breath before his shoulders slumped, his tense body deflating like a balloon. His eyes slid shut as his opposite hand came up to press over yours, shaking and clammy. You didn’t mind though. How could you when you could see how much he needed someone to save him? Not only from the mark but from himself.

You gave him a moment before his eyes fixed on you again, sparkling green in the dim lights. You rose, pulling at his arm- encouraging him to do the same. He followed willingly, almost like a lost child as you pulled him through the maze like hallways. The soft sounds of your feet echoed in the empty space, his heavier gait trailing close behind you.

Opening your bedroom door, you kicked off your slippers into a dark corner. He hesitated as you led him toward your bed, but a soft tug had him following you into the soft warm embrace of your mattress. You situated yourself under the covers, the warmth starting to seep back into your bones before you pulled at Dean, urging him closer. You pulled him closer until his head rested on your chest, your fingers sliding up into his hair as your other hand drew small deliberate patterns across his back.

He laid still and slightly rigid for a while, breathing more shallow than you would’ve liked until a shuddering breath left him. His body seemingly melted into yours, this newfound closeness feeling like you’d done it countless times before. As time passed he became more peaceful, his arm coming up around you and hand tucked at your side. His thumb quested across the thin material of your shirt, windwiper motions sending happy sparks into your heart. It eventually stopped and you were sure he was asleep, but his hand squeezed you gently before consciousness left him.

The man of few words let his actions speak for him. And in that moment you knew he was so grateful. Grateful that you managed to help keep him from drowning.


End file.
